


Immer Sie , Für Immer Sie

by Yasuo_Karada



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Ending, Glitch Text, Gore, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Surgery, Unfortunate Implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5088028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yasuo_Karada/pseuds/Yasuo_Karada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Always, you're beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immer Sie , Für Immer Sie

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely a self-indulgent Clear Bad End gore fic since that is my favorite bad end. There weren't any fics going into detail about that damned eyeball surgery scene (at least none I could find), so I decided to go ahead and go for it. There's some glitch text during some of Clear's thoughts, just a head's up because glitch text is wonderful and it's creepy and I love it.
> 
> Happy Halloween, sinners.

 

White.  
  
Everything that I've ever come to know since coming to Platinum Jail has been white. Sterile. _Isolated_.  
  
The air is almost suffocating – well, it would be if I needed it to breathe, I'm sure. It's stagnant, and the feeling one would get being in a place like this would be the feeling of death. There is no life here.

And yet there, in the middle of this sea of white, an oasis of tenderness and blue lays nestled beneath a strikingly white sheet atop an equally contrasting steel surgical table.  
  
A smile drives its way onto my face, and I take calculated steps to approach the table and the one strapped to it, tools needed in hand. His eyelids flutter open in response to my footsteps and I stare down into a lovely mixture of hazel and amber, dazed and a bit confused; a light returns to them when he seems to register my face, and a faint grimace of his own creeps across his lips.  
  
“...Clear...”  
  
Ah, Aoba-san. You're so precious.  
  
I set down the tools onto the small table beside him. My gaze travels downward, to the protruding collarbones just below his neck, the sharp edges of his shoulders, the outline of his torso beneath the cloth. If I look hard enough, I can make out the individual ribs sticking through his skin.  
  
The things he's had to go through up until now make me sad to think about; to hear him in such pain from the tests, to watch him wither away into nothing from his stubbornness and refusal to eat, the way he would fight and protest whenever it was time for another test...In a way, they only made him seem even more beautiful, and to bare witness to his fighting spirit was an honor of the highest degree.  
  
But now, it's time to stop fighting.  
  
A hand raises and gingerly caresses his cheek. He jumps at the touch, his body visibly shaking, weak as his tremors may be. I shush him in the most soothing tone I can, “It's alright. There's nothing to be afraid of here.”  
  
Because you'll be able to rest. Because you'll be beautiful. Perfe̢çt.͘  
  
“Aoba-san,” I continue, and he freezes, “please try to be patient. If you aren't, it may be painful.”  
  
As if a switch had been flipped inside of his brain, Aoba-san startles and jolts upright, eyes wide like an animal trapped in a corner. I've never seen this look in his eyes, nor have I ever seen him act this way. Before, he had a certain fire in his actions, fueled by a desire to fight back, to destroy anything in his way to ensure his own safety.  
  
Now, that fire is gone. No more than a weak ember. I recognize this as the “flight” mode animals and humans feel when they cannot fight back.

  
He's af͜r̷a id̨ of me.  
  
I don't have to apply much pressure to hold him back down onto the table; after all, he's weak from the tests and lack of eating. With one hand, I hold down his shoulder as I pull up a belt from under the table and strap his wrist to it with the other. Then, I do the same to the other arm, then to his legs and stomach. It's rather difficult with his squirming, but it's alright.  
  
It'll all be worth it, so I don't mind if he puts up a little of a fight.  
  
Amidst his shakes, his chest heaves with heavy breaths and he stares up at me with a horrified and confused expression as I lean over and place my hand upon his forehead. His eyes are glassy, as though he was on the verge of crying.  
  
His eyes are so beautiful. So _perfect_.  
  
“C-Clear...!” He pleads, still squirming as I tighten his restraints with my freehand, my other tenderly running through his bangs.  
  
“Humans have so many senses, but I believe they rely on their sense of sight the most,” I begin. His breathing increases in heaviness as the squirming dies down, to the point where every time he inhales he rises a bit off of the table.

“When their nose is clogged up and they eat something, they cannot tell what taste it is unless they're looking at it. They know just by looking. They can determine what taste it is because their eyes tell their brain. So,” I pause, looking down at Aoba-san's face, at his eyes, “without a window to the outside world, Aoba-san won't be able to gain any unnecessary knowledge.”  
  
His eyes get even wider than I would have ever expected. I grin down at him happily.  
  
“All you need to know is me.”  
  
His eyebrow twitches slightly and his expression contorts into one of pure, unrivaled fear. I ignore my own hesitation at seeing his face; if I stop myself from his emotions alone, then he'll never be beautiful, he and I won't be together. This is for him just as much as it is fo r̛ ͞m̵e/̨.

I tell myself that.  
  
I shift to stand back upright and reach over to grab a small scalpel. I stare at it as I turn it over in my hands, choosing to look away from his face to make beginning this process easier.  
  
“I also gave this some thought. Pain isn't very enjoyable, so I was wondering whether or not to use an anesthetic...and,” I paused, glancing over down at Aoba-san's face. “I've decided not to.”  
  
The tears pooling in his eyes finally fall down his lovely cheeks as I watch what little color he still has visibly drain from his face. There's a light that flickers in his eyes as he puts the pieces together. I place the tool back down.  
  
“With pain, won't your lost emotions gush forward? And after I've gone through all of your senses, I'd like to crystallize you.”  
  
Because then, you'll be beau̡t͟i͏f̀͘͢ư̶͞ļ  forever. With me, forever.  
  
“So, I'm sorry,” I give him an apologetic look and a pained smile. “I think this will hurt.”  
  
He's back to struggling, though with the restraints as tight as they are, he's unable to move much. I lean back down to pull his hair back from his face and kiss his forehead, then both of his eyelids as though saying good-bye. A final, sweet peck is left on his lips before I pull away.  
  
“Well...I'll be starting now, Aoba-san.”  
  
A tiny whimper leaves his throat as I turn on the light above the table, the sudden brightness startling him and his eyelids flicker. They squeeze shut as I take a disinfectant gauze to the skin around his eyes. This close, I can hear his teeth grinding against each other, his breaths shaking and the tiniest of tremors his body making it a bit of a challenge to get everything clean.  
  
If I focus hard enough, I'm fairly certain I can hear his heart pounding against his rib cage.  
  
Once his skin is clean, I set aside the gauze and take hold of the scalpel once more, holding his forehead down with one hand to keep his head in place, a quiet shriek shattering the otherwise fairly quiet room. I adjust the same hand to where I can hold his left eyelid open with my fingers. His pupil stares up at me before looking erratically around the room, struggling against my hand in a pathetic attempt to blink, or shut his eyes, or look away.  
  
His body tenses as I bring the scalpel into view, and he tries to duck away from the sharp instrument, though it's to no avail. His legs thrash against the restraints tying them down, to the point of making a ruckus.  
  
I remain focused on the task at hand, drawing the scalpel nearer to his eye. I angle it in such a way that it will be able to squeeze between the eyeball and the socket below the lid, so I can sever the nerves.  
  
“C-Clear, please...!” His whimpers are frail and unnecessary. I ignore them and instead tighten my hold on his head as a way to tell him that I'm not stopping. He seems to get the message, and a choked sob escapes his throat just before I drive the scalpel into the crevice.  
  
“AAA _AAAAA **AHHHHHHH!!!!**_ ”  
  
His body shakes not unlike a seizure, head jolting this way and that against my palm only for him to cry out in more pain as the blade brushes against the ball.  
  
A small amount of blood pools out from behind where I cut, mixing in with his tears and streaming down the sides of his face into his hair. The red looks absolutely _stunning_ against his pale skin.  
  
Slowly, I move the scalpel around his eye in a near-perfect circle, taking my time to ensure I preserve his eyeball the best I can. His screams echo throughout the room, and his hands and heels slam repeatedly down onto the metal table. His back arches the best it can against the belts.  
  
That's right, Aoba-san. Let it all out – your pain, your anguish. Let me hear your voice while it is still a luxury we can afford.  
  
Once I have gone around the eye one time, I angle the scalpel and drive it in deeper to repeat the process to sever the nerves further in the back, the ones actually tying it to his skull. Again, he thrashes against the table; again, he screams until his throat is audibly raw; again, he pleads for me to stop.  
  
It's too _la͟t̢e_  to stop, Aoba-san. Why can't you _s̡̡͡e͢͝ȩ͢͞_ th̵́͘is?  
  
Before too long, I'm able to remove the left eyeball in a smooth, clean fashion.  
  
He breathes heavily enough to where his chest rises off the table, his body giving little shakes from the shock. His fingers twitch and the eyelid, now free, jitters uncontrollably from the pain and sudden loss of it. His voice comes in tiny, weak whimpers, tears and blood pooling at the base of his skull from streaming down his face.  
  
I carefully hold this soft organ in between my thumb and middle finger and hold it up to the light, admiring the way it shines and how the blood is slowly dripping off of the nerves still intact. His pupil is slightly dilated, now that it's practically dead, though his iris still sparkles just as brightly as ever. He has such gorgeous eyes, it's really a shame they have to go.  
  
And then, an idea pops into my head.  
  
I quickly excuse myself from Aoba-san's side and rummage through a cabinet in search for – ah, found it.  
  
Not a minute later, I hold up the jar filled with formaldehyde and plop the eyeball into the chemical, watching as it floats aimlessly, almost like...like, a j͞͠e̶͢͟͝҉l҉͜͠l̢̛͘͢y̴͝f̷͝ì̴͟͠s̸̷̢͘h҉͢, I guess.  
  
“Look, Aoba-san.” I return to Aoba-san's side and hold the jar in his view. “Looks like we are able to keep your eyes, after all.”  
  
His face contorts into a painful grimace, and I can feel his good eye's gaze following me as I set the jar aside onto a counter with a sink. It wouldn't do for him to get an infection because of cross-contamination, so I quickly clean myself and my tools before returning to his side.  
  
“It's time for the other one, Aoba-san.”

 

* * *

 

How long has it been since I've heard his voice?  
  
I've been pondering this thought rather often lately, I've noticed.  
  
Specifically, I find myself asking this question to nobody in particular after Aoba-san and I have made love.  
  
Do I regret it, taking away his voice?  
  
No.

True, I don't have the pleasure of hearing it anymore, not even while we make love. But that's alright. He doesn't need his voice to become beautiful.

Besides, I have it memorized, his vocal waves in my memory space.  
  
Even now, basking in the afterglow of our love-making, as I idly play with his hair as we lay in his bed, I don't regret it. His stump of a body is still shaking, his broken breathing simulating crying. His hair must have feeling in it still, as it's gotten to where the _only_ thing that makes Aoba-san submit is when I play with his hair.  
  
What is it like, to have feeling in your hair?  
  
Is it pleasurable? Pa̛i̴̕ń̸ful?  
  
I don't know. I should have asked before I took his voice. But I still don't regret it.  
  
Because this is the last time.  
  
Tomorrow morning, Aoba-san will stop breathing. He will be crystallized and finally, _finally_ , beautiful. Just for me.  
  
Twirling a lock of his gorgeous blue hair that reminds me of the sea, I look down at his limp form. His arms and legs were removed long ago, and his throat has finally healed recently from removing his vocal chords. Despite all of this, I find myself staring at the black cloth tied around his head where his eyes used to be.  
  
I remember that day well; after all, it was the day Aoba-san started to become mine.  
  
The sound of his screams, the way his body fought and trembled during the procedure, it's all perfectly clear in the back of my memory. His expression, though, stands out the most.  
  
Even then, during his painful mutilation, he didn't look at me with hate.  
  
“Aoba-san,” I sigh, jolting him out of his self-pity. His breath hitches at hearing me say his name, letting me know he's acknowledging me.  
  
“I know, this has all been very painful for you. I cannot become a human, and so I needed you to become like me: artificial,” I pause and glance over at the jar I decided to keep on the small nightstand beside his bed, watching his eyes float.

Why am I even telling him this? We've already talked about these things before.  
  
“If there were any other way to preserve you without you going through pain, I think that would have been ideal. I do not like seeing you in pain, Aoba-san.”  
  
Of course there was a way for him to not experience any pain. I robbed him of that.  
  
He sighs heavily beside me, anticipating the point I'm trying to get at.  
  
“Soon...you won't have to feel it anymore. You'll be free from this life.” It's strange to think about, let alone say it out loud, that this day has finally come. I lean down and lovingly kiss his forehead through his hair; he startles at my touch at first, then leans into it.  
  
It's to be expected. I'm all he knows now.  
  
“You won't have to endure the pain of being human anymore.”

The thought of letting Aoba-san go sparks something in me, and I turn over so I'm hovering above his lithe frame.  
  
“Until then, please, just bare with this. One more time.”

Let me indulge in your physical body while I can. I'm being selfish. I've _been_ selfish. Consider this release my final gift to you.  
  
He gulps and inhales a shuddered breath, and I watch a bead of sweat leftover from our previous love-making only a few moments ago trickle down to his brow. When I cup his cheek with my palm, he leans into the touch, his breathing increasing in speed and heaviness.  
  
Are you h̕à͘͏pp҉̢y̡̛ you'll be free, Aoba-san?  
  
His throat releases a raspy gasp as I lean down to nip lightly at the healing scars against his throat. My hands slide down his shoulders to the stumps of his arms where his elbows should be, down his sides, hips, thighs.  
  
~~This is where it all ends~~.  
  
His chest heaves as I move down to kiss along his collarbones, my thumbs returning to his hips to gently rub circles against the bone jutting out through the skin. He's reacting a lot more now than he usually does.  
  
I glance up to his face, and for the first time in a long, long time, I see tears streaming down his cheeks, and the faintest, tiniest semblance of a dying smile gracing his face.  
  
                                                                                                                 ar͢e y͡oứ̷ ̨̀tr̶̴̷ul͡y͜,̵ ̴f̸̕įǹa̴͘͠l̨҉l̢̛y͘͞҉ ̴̧   
  
                                                                                                                                                                                _**h̷͢͝ ̵͘͢a̸̸̧͝ ̴̵̢̕͏p̛̕ ́̕p̶̷̛̕͟ ͜y̧͞ ̷̛?̵̢̕͜**_

 


End file.
